


I Saw Uncle Kissing Santa Claus

by andquitefrankly



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, M/M, Thorin loves xmas a whole lot, Uncle Thorin, What else is new, and Bilbo, bilbo is torn between hating thorin and loving him, frodo thinks thorin is the coolest, he's a dweeb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:18:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andquitefrankly/pseuds/andquitefrankly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin really really really likes Christmas. He's absolutely nuts about it. Bilbo would rather throw his horribly christmassy neighbor away, but Frodo is just so attached to him, that Bilbo doesn't have the heart. Also, he's unbearably attractive, so really it'd be a waste.<br/>Thorin is a Christmas dork and Bilbo is the neighbor secretly crushing on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Saw Uncle Kissing Santa Claus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Synchrony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synchrony/gifts).



> Ten points if you can guess where I stole my really lame title from. I wanted something cute okay! also, synchrony, i hope you like this fic. i tried.

Thorin Durin loved Christmas.

It was his obsession. The colors, the lights, the music, his unbelievable skill at getting everyone the best present; he loved every second of it.

It hadn't always been like that. As a child he hated Christmas. Hated every damn second of it. There were too many family members, too much food, too much noise.

He had been the family's personal Grinch.

But having your parents die, leaving you as guardian to your two younger siblings puts things in perspective.

Thorin refused to let them have a sad Christmas, so soon after their parents’ death. It's not what they would have wanted.

So Thorin put up the tree, forced his siblings to decorate it. He faced the crowds of the stores and bought them the perfect gifts. He played Christmas songs at every chance he got.

His siblings didn't understand the passion for the holiday. Not even their mother had gone this berserk over it. But it was one of the best Christmas’s ever.

The following year, Thorin did it all over again, and the year after that, until it became less of a chore and something he looked forward too.

* * *

“… a pair of hop-a-long boots and a pistol that shoots is the wish of Barney and…”

Bilbo grabbed his pillow and covered his head, attempting to suffocate himself. Any and all attempts to block the music had been in vain and he knew now that the obvious decision was simply to die. At least when he’s dead, he won’t have to listen to fifteen different versions of _Jingle Bell Rock_ and _The Christmas Song_ at seven o’clock in the morning.

“Make it stop,” Bilbo groaned, refusing to look at his alarm clock.

He’d woken up to Christmas music for at least a week now, and it was still November. Honestly, Bilbo wanted nothing more than to knock on his neighbor’s door and tell him to calm down. At least wait until December, or turn down the volume.

For years Bilbo had put up with his neighbor’s Christmassy exuberance, but he really felt that today was the last straw. He was hardly getting enough sleep as it was, and who knew how much worse Frodo’s sleep was. The poor lad was still in mourning, for heaven’s sake.

That, really, was what cinched it. Bilbo threw back his covers, wrapped himself in his robe, and stormed out of his house to bang on Thorin Durin’s front door.

“Mornin’ neighbor,” Thorin smiled, a piping hot cup of coffee in hand and an [atrocious green sweater](http://thesweaterstore.com/shop/green-ugly-christmas-pullover-48215/) with a waving Santa on the bottom left hand corner. Bilbo hated how it still looked good on the other man. Life was completely unfair.

“Could you please turn down the music,” Bilbo asked, crossing his arms, and trying to look dignified as he stood on the doorstep in his slippers. “It’s Saturday. And I’d like Frodo to sleep in for once.”

Thorin frowned slightly, but nodded, shouting, “Turn down the music,” over his shoulder, _Feliz Navidad_ suddenly inaudible and a, “Sorry!” offered in reply.

“Thank you,” Bilbo sighed, stomping back towards his house, Thorin watching him, but saying nothing else.

Bilbo was used to it. Thorin was a strange man, grumpy and brooding 10 months out of the year, not so much as grunting a greeting when he saw Bilbo, but come the first of November and suddenly he was bright and cheerful and humming _Jingle Bells_ under his breath.

It was disgusting.

“Uncle Bilbo?” Frodo asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes, a quilt wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. He stood in the foyer, his head tilted in question. _Where were you?_ It said, and Bilbo ruffled his ebony curls, kissing his forehead.

“Morning, sleepy head,” Bilbo said, inwardly cursing Thorin Durin. He'd woken up Frodo after all. "Just ran next door," Bilbo continued, shuffling Frodo into the kitchen to start breakfast. "To tell Mr. Thorin to quiet his music."

Frodo's eyes lit up at the mention of their surly neighbor. When he had moved in two months earlier, Frodo had been terrified of him. But Thorin had a certain charm that worked on children, and soon Frodo couldn't stop talking about the great Mr. Thorin. "He's very silly, isn't he," Frodo said, kicking his legs in glee as Bilbo fried some eggs.

"Very silly indeed," Bilbo grumbled.

* * *

"Who was it?" Kili asked, trying to detangle himself from the twinkle lights.

Though his family put up with his Christmas cheer, Kili was the only one who shared his enthusiasm. In fact, it was he had shown up at 6 AM with coffee and begged to help with the house lights. How could Thorin say no to that?

"Mr. Baggins," Thorin replied, gathering his own batch of lights and testing them, leaving Kili to his disaster.

Kili stopped struggling to wiggle his eyebrows at Thorin. "Perfectly precious Mr. Boggins with the temper and precocious nephew? That Boggins?"

"Baggins. And I have no clue what you're talking about," Thorin sniffed.

"Whatever," Kili snorted. "Mum says you fancy him."

"Your mum hates me," Thorin grumbled, heading back outside. "When you're done bring me the ladder."

"Uncle!"

"I'm not helping."

* * *

Frodo sat by the window all morning watching Mr. Thorin decorate his house in Christmas lights.

Mr. Thranduil was doing the same across the street, but Frodo thought Mr. Thorin's was much better. Mr. Thorin used colors in his lights, unlike Mr. Thranduil who only used white lights. And that was boring.

"Frodo," Bilbo called, stepping into the sitting room to find his nephew staring out the window. "I thought you were watching telly," he commented.

"We should make Mr. Thorin hot chocolate," Frodo declared, hopping off his chair and grabbing Bilbo's hand, pulling him towards the kitchen.

Bilbo sighed, but complied anyways. It was so difficult to get him excited about much nowadays, and he wasn't looking forward to the holidays, knowing that Frodo would be missing his parents more than ever.

"Alright, alright," Bilbo conceded, taking out a small hammer and giving it to Frodo who happily smashed the block of cocoa to bits.

"Don’t forget the marshmallows," Frodo chirped, digging through the pantry for the coveted prize. "And whipped cream."

"You think I don’t know how to make got chocolate?" Bilbo asked, wrapping his arms around the boy and tickling him, Frodo’s squeals of delight lightening Bilbo’s heart.

* * *

Fili threw himself onto the couch beside his brother, hair a mess, and still in his pajamas. “How’s Uncle?” he yawned, reaching for the remote.

He didn’t understand how Kili could get up at the crack of dawn and still function like a proper human being. Fili needed at least twelve hours of sleep, and any time before 10 AM was simply too early. He supposed that was why Kili was Thorin’s favorite. Not that he’d admit it.

“Good,” Kili mumbled, kicking Fili’s feet off the coffee table. “Finished the lights in record time.”

Fili glanced at Kili and noticed his furrowed brow. He was thinking; that was never a good sign. “What happened?” Fili sighed, turning off the television. There was nothing good on anyway.

“I met Mr. Boggins,” Kili told him, eyes wide, a grin stretching across his face.

Mr. Baggins was notorious in their family. Their mother claimed that Thorin was head over heels for him, had been for years, but he, naturally, had done nothing about it. Thorin liked to complain about him on a daily basis.

Claimed he spent all his time in his garden, wore brightly colored vests, had the most ridiculous nose twitch, and yelled at Thorin whenever he so much as stepped outside his house.

Fili and Kili had never met Mr. Baggins, despite he and their uncle being neighbors for years. He was either never home, or Uncle made it a point to make sure his family avoided contact with the man. It simply wasn’t fair.

“Baggins,” Fili corrected his brother, but already he was beginning to wake up, excitement bubbling within him. “What’s he like? Is Thorin _really_ in love with him like Mum says?”

Kili pursed his lips in thought, but Fili knew he was doing it to be a jerk. The answer was so obviously yes. “I won’t say he is, but I won’t say he isn’t, either,” Kili said. “But Mr. Bog _– Baggins_ is really, really nice. And he’s cute in a librarian sort of way. Kind of like Ori. And his nephew is the most precious creature on the planet.”

According to Kili, Mr. Boggins – “Please, call me Bilbo” – smelled like cinnamon apples and made him and Uncle Thorin the best hot chocolate in the world. Uncle grunted his thanks and Bilbo gnashed his teeth as he accepted the thanks, and then Frodo decided to admit it was his idea and then Thorin asked him if he wanted to plug in the twinkle lights.

“They need to get married, yesterday,” Kili declared.

Fili nodded absently before a very, very excellent idea popped into his head.

* * *

It was the knocking on his front door that woke Thorin up from his impromptu nap. He wasn’t one for napping, or lazing about the house, but he had just spent the day Christmas shopping and he felt he was allowed just a little nap.

His knees creaked and his back popped as he got up from his armchair, silently cursing his old age, and the person at the door who didn’t seem to get the memo that maybe he just wasn’t home.

“What?” he grumbled, only to be met with Bilbo’s concerned face, a sleepy Frodo bundled in his arms. “Mr. Baggins.”

“Bilbo,” his neighbor corrected him impulsively. “Sorry. I need your help.”

Thorin sort of nodded, not sure what was happening.

That seemed like good enough permission to continue, so Bilbo said, “I know this is unexpected, but could you watch Frodo for a few hours? My editor called me and he can’t find my manuscript and Frodo’s had a long day and I don’t want to drag him out in the cold and I saw your car in the drive, so please, please, please – ”

“Alright,” Thorin interrupted, hands out, ready to take the small child from his equally small neighbor.

“Really?” Bilbo stuttered, carefully placing Frodo in Thorin’s arms, the boy snuggling into his chest, but his eyes carefully trained on his uncle. “It won’t be too much trouble?”

Thorin shrugged. “I used to babysit Fili and Kili all the time. Still do, really, even if they are technically adults.” He ran a hand through Frodo’s messy curls, smiling down at him. “You want to wrap some presents, Master Frodo?”

Frodo wiped the sleep from his eyes and nodded enthusiastically, fidgeting in Thorin’s arms, no doubt wanting to be released to wreck childish havoc.

“I shouldn’t be more than a few hours,” Bilbo said, pressing a kiss to Frodo’s forehead and thanking Thorin again before wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck to protect himself from the December chill.

Once Bilbo had driven off, the exhaust from his little car floating up into the sky, and Frodo had been freed from his cocoon of scarves and hats and mittens, Thorin led the boy to the living room where he had bags upon bags of gifts.

Frodo’s eyes lit up as he saw bags upon bags of stuff, opening every bag and pulling out clothes and toys and gadgets. And just as sudden as he had found joy, he frowned and stepped away from the gifts.

“What’s wrong?” Thorin asked, kneeling beside him, wiping away the fat tears falling from Frodo’s face. He picked up the boy and rested him on his lap, snatching a pillow from the couch to support his back.

Frodo sniffled, rubbing his leaking nose on Thorin’s shirt. “Nothing,” he muttered.

Thorin rubbed his back and petted his hair. He knew what this was about. “You miss your parents, don’t you?” he asked, feeling Frodo’s little body shake, great big sobs bursting forth.

“It’s okay to miss them,” Thorin said, not sure how to make the boy feel better. He had been in his shoes, once upon a time, and the hurt never went away, not really. But Frodo was so young, so small, the only family his Uncle Bilbo.

What could he say?

“It hurts right here, huh?” Thorin asked, pointing to Frodo’s chest. “Like a horrible, stabbing pain. Like someone stepped on your heart and left it out in the cold.

“But you know, your heart’s not broken. And it’s not so cold now,” Thorin continued, wiping Frodo’s tears. “You’ve got someone who loves you very much.”

“Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo mumbled.

“That’s right. And he picked you up and mended your heart a little,” Thorin said. “There’s going to be a nasty scar, but it’ll heal. Christmas is hard without your parents. But they loved you, and they don’t want you to be sad.”

Frodo nodded with a sniffle and Thorin handed him a tissue. It seemed that for now, crisis was averted.

Thorin eventually got Frodo to help wrap the gifts, the boy sniffling every now and then and Thorin would ask him about his parents. What did they like to do at Christmas? She used to sing this song every night? Your father sure was big and strong.

It was nearly eight when Bilbo came to pick up Frodo, he and Thorin making gingerbread cookies.

“Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo exclaimed as Thorin answered the door, his face covered in sugar sweet frosting, curls dusted in flour. He jumped into Bilbo’s arms, placing a wet kiss on his cheek, much to Bilbo’s surprise.

“Aren’t you full of energy!” Bilbo smiled. “Did you behave yourself?”

“He was a perfect angel,” Thorin answered for Frodo who had already run back towards the kitchen, waiting for his cookies to finish baking.

“Thanks again,” Bilbo said, “I know you must have been busy.”

Thorin waved him off. “I don’t mind. Feel free to ask me anytime.”

They smiled at each other and Thorin decided to follow Frodo, needing a moment to gather himself. He had never spent so much time with Bilbo before. He was always shouting at him, or vice versa, about the proper placement of the garbage bins, or how Thorin played his music too loud that it was impossible to get any work done, or how Bilbo rarely bothered to say good morning anymore, even Thorin was making the effort.

Theirs was a strained relationship, but things had honestly quieted down once Frodo made a home with Bilbo. It seemed the little things weren’t so troublesome as trying to raise a 5-year-old.

The kitchen timer went off and Thorin pulled the gingerbread men out of the oven, Frodo gathering his frosting and laying down his parchment paper so as not to make a mess of the table.

It was as the Baggins’ were leaving that Thorin remembered the note that Kili had begged him to give to his neighbor. His nephew had sealed it and everything, making it impossible to try to sneak a peek at the contents. Thorin just had to assume it was a thank you card of some sort for the hot chocolate.

“Kili wanted me to give you this,” Thorin said, handing over the note and using that as a distraction to pick up Frodo and walk him to his house. It was the polite thing to do. He wasn’t trying to get some extra time with Bilbo.

“What is it?” Bilbo asked, turning the letter over, looking at the sloppy handwriting on the envelope, his name very clearly misspelled.

Thorin shrugged. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

Bilbo unlocked his door and took Frodo from Thorin, shooting a thank you over his shoulder and wishing Thorin a good night.

The rest of the night was spent putting Frodo through his evening routine and into bed that Bilbo didn’t remember the letter until he had changed into his pajamas. He shuffled downstairs and dug the card out of his coat, finding his letter opener and neatly opening the envelope.

He squeaked as he read the contents and peaked outside his window towards Thorin’s house, his twinkle lights lighting up the night sky, the multi-colors casting his house in a warm glow.

He fought with himself over what to do with the card, not sure whether to toss it and forget it, writing it off as a practical joke, but he thought of Frodo who had grown highly attached to Thorin, and had even warmed up to Kili. He sighed, grabbing a magnet and putting the invitation on his fridge.

He had another week to RSVP. He could decide then.

* * *

“Has he called?” Fili asked.

“Nope,” Kili replied. “Are you sure this plan will work?”

Fili flicked Kili in the forehead. “Of course it will. It’s my plan, isn’t it?”

Their brilliant plan was rather simple: Invite Bilbo and Frodo to their annual Ugly Christmas Sweater Party. Truthfully, it was Uncle Thorin’s annual UCSP, and everyone was forced to go unless they wanted another incident like Christmas ’05.

They shuddered at the thought.

But with the Baggins at the party, he could officially meet everyone in the family, and Thorin would have to face his crush face on. And then they’d kiss and get married and Thorin would be happy forever.

Perfect. Plan.

“But what if he doesn’t come?” Kili asked, suddenly finding the one flaw in the plan.

“He’ll come.”

* * *

Frodo sat on the front porch, booted feet kicking at the snow as he waited for Uncle Bilbo to get off the phone so they could go to the park. He wanted to sled down the Big Hill, especially now that Bilbo had pulled the old toboggan out of the attic.

It was still midday too, so the park shouldn’t be that crowded. If Frodo was very lucky, he’d have the entire Hill to himself.

Mr. Thorin’s car came down the street, parking in the drive, the antlers rattling as he slammed his car door. Frodo stood up and waved, shouting, “Mr. Thorin!”

Thorin spotted the boy and jogged towards him, making sure to stay on the clean pavement, not wanting Bilbo to yell at him for stepping on his snow covered lawn. “What are you up to?” Thorin asked, looking for Bilbo.

The shouting from inside the house seemed to give that explanation. He looked down at Frodo who seemed unbothered by the hostility in his uncle’s voice. “I’m gonna go sledding,” Frodo declared, pointing to the toboggan at his feet. “But I have to wait for Uncle Bilbo to stop fighting with Aunt Lobelia.”

Oh. Thorin knew all about Lobelia. He had never met the women personally, but whenever there was a ruckus at the Baggins household, Bilbo was usually arguing with this woman. If memory served him correctly, she had been Frodo’s caretaker before Bilbo stepped in.

“That sounds like fun,” Thorin said, sitting down beside him.

Frodo nodded. “I’m gonna go down the Big Hill,” he exclaimed, tapping his boots in excitement. “Uncle said I could.”

Thorin chuckled, knowing exactly what hill he was talking about. He used to take Fili and Kili down that same hill when they were younger. It wasn’t that big, but to someone as small as Frodo, it must have been a mountain.

“Do you wanna come?” Frodo asked, just as Bilbo came out of the house, a wrinkle between his eyes.

“Sorry, Frodo,” Bilbo said, fixing the boy’s hat. “Ready to go?”

Frodo nodded, but pointed at Thorin and asked, “Can Mr. Thorin come with us?”

Bilbo blinked in surprise, not having noticed his neighbor, and that was truly a crime, seeing as he was wearing his police uniform. Bilbo had had terrible, terrible dreams starring Thorin in that uniform.

He cleared his throat and said, “I’m sure Mr. Thorin’s very tired, Frodo.”

“No, he’s not,” Frodo declared, pulling at Thorin’s arm. “You’re not tired, are you, Mr. Thorin?”

Thorin wanted to say yes, but those big blue eyes were staring up at him and Bilbo’s cheeks were pink from the cold and really, Thorin had no choice but to say, “If you give me five minutes to change, I’ll be happy to go. If its’ alright with your uncle.”

Frodo clapped his hands and turned to Bilbo. “Is it alright?”

Bilbo sighed, nodding his head. He knew when he was beat.

* * *

Thorin wondered if this counted as a date.

It felt like a date. Then again, you didn’t bring your nephew on your date. Nor use him as an excuse for the date. So really, it most likely wasn’t a date.

But Thorin really, really wanted it to be a date.

Frodo was tuckered out, having spent most of the afternoon sliding down the Big Hill, cheeks pink and clothes covered in snow. They had decided on taking a break, walking to a café not a few blocks away for hot chocolate and cake.

The cake, Frodo insisted, was vital.

He was dozing away on Bilbo’s lap, and Thorin found that without Frodo there to spur on the conversation, he and Bilbo could do nothing more than sit there in silence. Thorin tried to think of something interesting to say.

He couldn’t think of anything. His mind was completely blank and all he could come up with to say was that he thought Bilbo was the most perfect human being on the planet.

He may constantly complain about him to Dis, but he knew that that was just a front. Not that it helped disguise his crush in anyway. Dis just had a sixth sense about these things.

“So – ”

“Thank you for the invite – ”

Both men blinked at each other, Thorin swallowing his lukewarm coffee and saying, “You go.”

“The invitation,” Bilbo said again. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure why you wanted us at your Christmas party, but I really am flattered.”

Invitation? Thorin hadn’t – oh. Oh! The damn letter Kili had made him give to Bilbo. He should have known his nephews were planning something. Curse those children. He was going to return their presents right this second. They did not deserve a new PS4.

“I bought Frodo a Christmas sweater just for the occasion,” Bilbo continued. “He’s very excited.”

They were coming. Oh god they were coming to his Christmas party. His Annual Ugly Christmas Sweater Party. He had to clean his house right now. He had to buy a new sweater. He needed to burn all of his furniture and buy new furniture. He had to give his friends and family a stern talk on proper party etiquette.

He was not prepared for this.

“That’s great,” Thorin smiled. “I’m glad you’ll be there.”

No, that sounded like he meant him him, not them, and he wanted them, but he also wanted him. Thorin just wanted his brain to _shut up_.

* * *

When Dis arrived at Thorin’s at a quarter to six, she barely recognized the place. For one thing, it was clean; completely and utterly spotless and it had that artificial pine scent that cleaning products favored.

It was truly a Christmas Miracle.

“Oh good,” Thorin said from where he stood on a chair, tinsel in hand, “you’re here. Bofur requested latkes. I don’t know how to make those.”

“I’m not any more Jewish than you are,” Dis reminded him, throwing her coat onto his armchair. “What are you doing?”

Thorin looked down at her and then back at his task. “Decorating.”

Decorating was not enough of a word to describe Thorin at this very moment. His Christmas tree had been up for weeks, but since then he had added wreaths to nearly every door, mistletoe under every doorway, garland on the railings, and little paper cut outs on the walls.

He even had a smaller tree in the dining room.

Why he needed that there, Dis wouldn’t know. And judging for the open box beside him, there would only be a plethora more of Christmas decorations.

Bless his sweet, Christmas heart. “Don’t you think you’re over doing it?” Dis asked.

A moment of terror flashed across Thorin’s face and Dis immediately regretted opening her mouth. Thorin loved Christmas, yes, but a judgmental word from his siblings usually cowed that enthusiasm with guilt. The big idiot.

“It looks good,” Dis tried, “I just think anything more and you’ll end up more tacky, than tasteful.”

Thorin hopped off the chair and rubbed the back of his head. “I guess,” he agreed, shutting the box and kicking it behind him. Dis had to hide that box now before he went berserk and made his home a Christmas wonderland.

“What’s got you in a tither?” Dis asked. “You’re not usually this anal about the Christmas party.”

Thorin shrugged, trying for nonchalance. It really didn’t work.

“Spill, now,” Dis demanded, poking his nose with her perfectly manicured nail. “Between you and the boys, I know you’re up to something.”

“It’s nothing,” Thorin pleaded, grabbing his half empty box and shoving it into the first closet he could find. “Are you going to make those latkes, or…?”

“I’m going to find out,” Dis said as she stormed into the kitchen.

Thorin knew that she would, but hopefully by the time she did, it’d be after the Christmas party. Thorin really doubted it, but he could hope, couldn’t he?

* * *

Frodo bounced in excitement, waiting for his uncle to finish changing so they could go to Mr. Thorin’s party.

He had waited days and days for this night. He was even allowed to stay up till nine tonight. Uncle Bilbo had said so. Frodo had never stayed up that late before.

He had tried to stay up on New Year’s Eve last year, back when he was four and his parents were still alive – Frodo tried not to dwell, today was about being happy, not sad – but he barely made it to half past eight before he passed out in his mother’s arms.

“Are you ready yet?” Frodo asked, just as their doorbell chimed. He ran to the door, looking back over his shoulder. He wasn’t allowed to answer the door, but his uncle was currently occupied. Maybe it was okay this time?

“Who is it?” Frodo shouted, ear to the door.

“Kili. And Fili.”

Frodo grinned. He remembered Kili. Surely it was alright to answer the door to him. But he didn’t know who Fili was. And what if he got in trouble? “I’m not allowed to answer the door,” he told them. “I’ll get Uncle.”

He ran off before receiving an answer, bursting into Bilbo’s room where he was attempting to tie his bowtie, his blue vest with happy snowmen, lying in wait on his bed. “Someone’s at the door,” Frodo said as he entered. “Can I answer it?”

Bilbo nodded absently. “Yes, yes.” It wasn’t until Frodo had scurried out of the room that he realized what his nephew had said. “Frodo, no!”

He rushed out of his room, only to find Frodo hi-fiving Kili. There was a blonde man beside him, and Bilbo was certain it was his brother that he had heard so much about.

“Hi Mr. B,” Kili said. “This is my brother, Fili.” He pointed at the blonde and he waved at Bilbo, offering his own hi-five to Frodo.

“We are here to escort you to the party,” Fili said, bowing with a flourish, Kili doing the same opposite him. Frodo clapped his hands, giving Bilbo a giant smile.

Bilbo could only sigh, running back to his room for his horrid vest. There was no turning back now.

* * *

“What are you wearing?” Dwalin asked, spotting Thorin by the food table, stuffing a gingerbread cookie into his mouth.

Thorin looked down at his sweater. It was a grey one this time, with reindeer. He thought he looked nice. It was a nice sweater. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s not horrifying,” Dwalin said. Usually Thorin always wore the worst sweater known to man. Literally the ugliest, devastating, light up, tacky sweater. He was banned from competing the ugliest sweater contest. That’s how ugly they were.

But this – this was actually a very nice sweater. It wasn’t tasteless at all. It almost seemed as if Thorin was _trying_ to look good. “Did you bring a date?” Dwalin asked, suddenly searching the room for the person in question. “You never said we could bring dates.”

“I did not bring a date,” Thorin growled, just as the front door banged open and in stepped Fili and Kili with Bilbo and Frodo. Oh god. Thorin was not ready for this.

He grabbed a slice of cheesecake and ducked behind Bombur, using the man’s girth to hide him. He wasn’t emotionally prepared for this. He should have murdered Fili and Kili for even inviting Bilbo to this dumb Christmas party.

Thorin stirred up a conversation with Gloin, nodding now and then, pretending to pay attention as Bilbo traveled around the room being introduced to the entire Durin clan, Frodo now in Fili’s arms, Kili standing behind him making funny faces. His heart beat quickly as he noticed how well Bilbo fit in. It was like he was part of the family already.

“You did bring a date,” Dwalin grunted, elbowing Thorin in the ribs. “And he’s cute.”

“Is that Mr. Baggins?” Dis hissed, pulling on Thorin’s arm, pointedly not looking at Bilbo. “You invited him and you didn’t tell your favorite sister?”

“You’re my only sister,” Thorin sassed, receiving punch in the gut in reply. “And I didn’t invite him, your sons did.”

Dis’ eyes widened. Betrayed by her own children! “Boys!” she shouted, storming towards the, Fili and Kili looking at one another, trying to figure out what they did now.

“There you are.”

Thorin turned towards the voice and immediately regretted it. Bilbo found him.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Bilbo said, handing over a gift bag. Thorin simply blinked at it. He had given him… a gift.

Thorin grabbed it robotically, peering inside, but seeing nothing but paper tissue. “Thank you,” Thorin said once the awkward silence had gotten a bit thick. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yes I did,” Bilbo replied. “You’ve watched over Frodo and you invited us to your party, and it was the neighborly thing to do.”

Neighborly. He was just being neighborly. Of course he was. Thorin couldn’t be anything more to him. Neighbors. That’s what they were.

“It’s that cologne you wear,” Bilbo said, for lack of anything better to say.

“You know my cologne?” Thorin asked, surprised.

Bilbo’s cheek reddened as he coughed in embarrassment. “It smelled like you,” Bilbo admitted, putting his hands into his hideous vest.

“Uncle!” Fili hollered, both men glad for the distraction. Fili pointed up and shouted, “Mistletoe.”

Thorin and Bilbo looked up and there, innocent as could be, was mistletoe. Thorin didn’t remember putting mistletoe in the middle of the living room. Damn his family.

“Oh,” Bilbo said, shifting uncomfortably beside Thorin. Thorin was going to kill Fili.

“We don’t have to – ” Thorin began, only to be interrupted by small hands clutching his shoulder, pulling him down for Bilbo to place a small kiss on his cheek.

Oh. Oh! Thorin stared at Bilbo in disbelief, the other man’s face bright red as Thorin’s family hooted and hollered. But Thorin didn’t hear them. He didn’t even see them.

All that mattered at this very moment was Bilbo. “Sorry,” Bilbo stuttered. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“We could try again,” Thorin coughed, leaning his head forward, lips tilted down. “If you’d like.”

“I’d like that a lot,” Bilbo whispered, before meeting Thorin’s lips with his own.


End file.
